“Not Seamless but Still Special”

Reviewer: Myle Yan Tay
Performance: 5 May 2019

It’s difficult to review a show like Never Rarely, Sometimes Often, staged by Tapestry Playback Theatre, at the Toa Payoh Central Community Club. Playback Theatre is a form of improvised theatre, in which performers re-enact stories told by audience members. Tapestry has been practicing the art form in Singapore for 17 years, retelling people’s stories through dialogue, music, and movement. Rather than review the show’s content, which consists entirely of the audience’s stories, it is more appropriate to consider the skills and technical capability of the troupe who brings those tales to life.

Tapestry utilizes a considerable amount of tools during their show, such as tableaux, mime-work, and choral soundscapes, backed by music from different instruments. These tools add varied textures to the performance, and keep the show lively in its early stages. Michael Cheng does an incredible job as the interviewer, asking insightful questions of storytelling audience members without probing too deeply.

Like any form of improvised theatre, Tapestry’s performance is best when we cannot see the strings that are being pulled. But there’s a unique challenge for the performers: other forms of improvisation often use the audience’s contributions as a jumping off point to create new material, whereas Playback recreates them for an audience that has already heard the whole story. The performers cannot hope to surprise the audience. Instead, they can only be honest to the story that was delivered.

By and large, they succeed. There are some technical hiccups, with performers occasionally mishearing one another. This is overcome quickly, but sharper listening skills could lead to a smoother show. Additionally, the physicality of some performers is less refined, and a lack of clarity in motion sometimes compromises a scene’s visual impact. Lastly, some ground rules to open up the show would go far in ensuring audiences that the space is safe and free of judgement.

Regarding judgement, though the show is at times humorous, the performers put in an admirable effort to make sure it does not come at the audience member’s expense. It would be easy to go for cheap laughs, but that would have belittled the experiences that were shared.

It is not often as a theatregoer that I see an audience member share their story, watch it performed, and eventually, laugh and reflect on something that has made them angry, proud, or regretful. It is a transformative experience, not only for that one person, but for the entire audience. This requires not only sincere efforts by the performers, but a vulnerability and openness from their audience. That is why despite some loose threads, there is still something deeply cathartic about what Tapestry is doing – by making a room full of strangers feel like neighbours.

“Truth hurts”

Reviewer: Myle Yan Tay
Performance: 4 April 2019

In the penultimate scene of The Truth by French playwright Florian Zeller, Michael, played by Lim Yu-Beng, asks his best friend if the play they’re in is a comedy or a tragedy.

It is entirely possible that this is Zeller telling the audience that The Truth will defy such neat conventions. It’s unfortunate then that at this point in the play, any answer to that question would have been thoroughly disappointing.

The Truth is the latest production by the Singapore Repertory Theatre, directed by Ng Choon Ping. It explores the theme of infidelity, and intends to challenge whether the truth is indeed what we want. And the play does explore this – but only in its very final moments. The rest of the time feels like we are just waiting for something to happen.

If we treat The Truth as a comedy, it does not meet the mark. Its central premise comes off like a dinner table joke, except it is 90 minutes long and far less punchy. There are amusing moments, like Michael pretending to be his mistress’ elderly aunt on the phone, but these stick out as rare instances of absurdity in a play that is otherwise tiresomely ordinary.

For it to be a tragedy, the audience should be invested in the characters or relationships, so they will care when things take a turn for the worse. But not a single character is remotely likable, and none of the relationships are emotionally engaging. Though the actors put in a commendable effort to navigate the play’s repetitive dialogue, they cannot overcome the fact that each character speaks with the exact same voice. The central relationship between Michael and his mistress is profoundly uninteresting and it is never clear why an audience member should care that they stay together or break up. Michael is so unlikable that even though the play eventually delivers his comeuppance – as most tragedies do – this reviewer is left wondering why we needed to wait so long for this surprise.

That leaves The Truth with the final option: That it is not trying to be either a comedy or a tragedy, and instead wants to sit between both. But this comes at a severe cost. The play never goes to any novel place with its comedy. Neither does it dive deep into any of its shallow characters to find some tragic truth. Instead, we are left on the border of each, getting an idea of what the play could have been if it settled on either option.

“Cashing in”

Reviewer: Myle Yan Tay
Performance: 20 February 2019

For a farce to work, actors need to be continually bouncing a giant ball of energy. Every gag is a pass or lob, and without enough focus, the ball drops. The slightest error in timing and the ball misses its mark. And as the game progresses, the ball needs to get bigger and bigger to keep the audience engaged. This ball is ever-present in the Stage Club’s latest production, Cash on Delivery, written by Michael Cooney. Although there are funny and entertaining moments, more could have been done to make sure that ball stayed in the air throughout the show’s two-hour duration.

Cash on Delivery follows Eric Swann, a young man who has been cheating the state’s social security system. His life starts to unravel when a fraud inspector needs to verify Swann’s claims. In typical farce fashion, there are mistaken identities, physical comedy, drunken escapades, absurd characters, and plenty of wordplay. These provide plenty of comedic fodder for the first hour of the performance.

After intermission, however, the show starts to lurch. The performers do their best to keep the story alive but the script feels too long. Scenes start to become repetitive and formulaic, bordering on predictable. Before intermission, a clever turn-of-phrase could elicit a hearty laugh from the crowd. After, the banter becomes monotonous, lacking the same freshness from its first half. And with a two-hour running time, it becomes almost impossible to keep escalating the stakes without becoming tiresome.

Swann’s descent is elevated by Neal Thapar’s performance, full of wide-eyed panic and snappy transformations. Thapar is precise in his performance, and remains clear and controlled no matter what Swann is getting up to. Unfortunately, other performers struggle with this – when the character’s mania overwhelms the actor’s voice, line delivery often becomes incoherent.

On a similar note, there are multiple lines that could not be heard over the audience’s roaring laughter. Though this is a good problem to have, future productions would fare well to ride the audience’s laughter rather than attempting to fight it.

Another issue is that as this script was first staged in London in 1996, some of the humour feels dated, especially jokes pertaining to cross-dressing and gender. It is possible that Cooney meant to critique the characters’ limited perspectives, but without even discussing political correctness, the jokes fail to go beyond crudeness or shock value.

Cash on Delivery starts strong, and there’s plenty of laughs to be had as Swann’s web of lies grows and grows. But, at a point, the web becomes too big to even keep track of, and the team drops the ball. Coupled with the play’s lacklustre ending, this reviewer can’t help but feel that the Stage Club’s experience with farces could be put to better use on a snappier and sharper script.

“Adrift at sea”

Reviewer: Myle Yan Tay
Performance: 24 January 2019

We walk into the performers living an idyllic island life, lounging in the sun beneath an umbrella, sailing in a makeshift boat across the stage, and fishing with plastic bait. Before the play’s first scene even begins, Angkat: A Definitive, Alternative, Reclaimed Narrative of a Native creates this sense of a dreamscape. And though this dreamscape leads to some striking and imaginative images, there is little firmness for the audience to latch onto.

Angkat: A Definitive, Alternative, Reclaimed Narrative of a Native, written by Nabilah Said and directed by Noor Effendy Ibrahim, revisits Nabilah’s earlier works, State Land, written as part of the Centre 42 Boiler Room programme, and Angkat, which was staged by Teater Ekamatra in December 2017. 2019’s Angkat hopes to put these two pieces in dialogue with one another, reflecting on their different themes.

It is very clear that this production is nothing like Ekamatra’s Angkat. While Ekamatra’s production was grounded in a focused, character-driven story, this version of Angkat floats around and in between narrative conventions, constantly resisting predictability or clarity. While this reviewer finds little value in comparing two separate productions with very different aims, it is worth saying that this version of Angkat felt frustrating in a way that 2017’s version never did.

This frustration comes from the oscillation between the two scripts. Though the concept of putting the two plays in dialogue raises poignant dramatic questions, it does not feel like the two plays are in conversation. The different styles of the two texts makes it hard for them to be in dialogue, as the islanders’ narrative in State Land is allegorical and conceptual, while the singing competition in Angkat is more grounded and realist. This is not to say the production ought to adhere to any dramatic conventions or dilute Nabilah’s distinct voice. But the two different textures of the narratives does compromise on the impact of both styles.

While this production does not fully deliver on a clear emotional trajectory, its comedy is fast, unique, and incredibly effective. There is a distinct sense of play exuding throughout the production that is infectious. The three men, Adib Kosnan, Hafidz Abdul Rahman, and Izzul Irfan, are consistently hilarious, whether they are playing three orphaned school boys, “judges” on the singing show, or a punk band resisting conformity. This sense of play bleeds into the staging and set design, which is filled with vibrant colours, unexpected sources of lighting, and inventive mise en scènes.

Though Angkat may be confusing and at times incoherent, it is a fun production that surprises its audience. This reviewer only hopes that further iterations of this piece can maintain this level of inventiveness, while managing to put its rich material into a more emotionally-anchored production.

“Not this island’s song”

Reviewer: Myle Yan Tay
Performance: 9 December 2018

The SoDA Players (Song & DAnce Players) is a group of young professionals who practice theatre outside of their day jobs. In this production of Island Song, written by Sam Carner, Derek Gregor and Marlo Hunter, the Players do an admirable job as performers and designers. This reviewer only wishes that the material they were working with was of a higher standard.

The musical, first produced in New York City, follows five 20-somethings as they navigate adulthood in the Big Apple. The characters are pulled from a bag of clichés. There is a go-getter lawyer, a hopeless romantic, a spurned lover, an aspiring actor and a girl whose only trait is that she is quirky. Island Song would probably unironically declare New York City the sixth character of the musical. Perhaps this reviewer has seen too many parodies about the magic of New York City, that it is difficult to be anything but cynical about Island Song’s content.

Additionally, hearing the presumably Singaporean cast members with varying degrees of American accents sing about dirty subways, smelly pigeons, and Broadway ring false. The production’s depiction of New York City is as simplistic as its characters.

All three female characters are defined by their relationship with men. Though by the musical’s end, their journeys lead to independence, one character spends the whole musical pining, undercutting the emotional potential of some of the musical’s strongest numbers.

This is Island Song’s major problem. Each character can be described almost entirely with one or two words, and their journeys move linearly in a predictable fashion from there.

That said, the production team puts in a commendable effort to breathe life into the production. The audience sit almost within the stage, with actors walking on runways between seats. They are consistently moving from setting to setting, suggesting lives outside of their songs. This could easily be distracting, but a sharp lighting design and disciplined cast create the illusion of hustle-and-bustle. Sarah Koh, playing Jordan the lawyer, is exciting to watch throughout. The live band appear occasionally as non-speaking characters, making the production feel cohesive and integrated. The cast sing well, though certain harmonies are off, perhaps because of the acoustics of the space.  On this note, unfortunately, many of the lyrics are undecipherable, due to the band’s volume or the actors’ diction. Nonetheless, the songs still hold weight thanks to the actors’ committed performances.

During the musical, three hipsters intermittently interrupt with songs about their “doneness” with all aspects of life. The actors and lyrics are amusing. But in a musical with so many tropes and clichés, it is hypocritical to point out the hipsters’ shallowness when they are as fleshed-out as the five main characters.

Though not a perfect production, the team’s efforts bode well for the SoDA Players. This reviewer just hopes their next production is unhampered by a weak script.

“Bloody bickering”

Reviewer: Myle Yan Tay
Performance: 21 November 2018

Guards at the Taj centres on the relationship between two characters – Babur and Humayun, the eponymous guards at the Taj Mahal – the night before the mausoleum is unveiled. With only two actors onstage for the entire 90 minutes, this production lives and dies by the cast and script.

Thankfully, Ghafir Akbar and Jay Saighal have a masterful control over the space. The banter between them feels lived-in, like two brothers bickering. Saighal imbues Babur’s monologues with clarity and passion, a great foil to Ghafir’s precise and focused Humayun. Their chemistry, which makes them such a joy to watch, also makes it that much more painful when their relationship is challenged.

Rajiv Joseph’s script is both extremely funny and tense. The jokes are well carried by the two characters, as they reveal more about what they want and how they view the world. Almost every gag comes back later in the play, sometimes in a much more severe context. What made the audience laugh moments before becomes a clear source of tension and conflict. When this happens and one scene sharply zooms to the next, Guards at the Taj is electric.

But when these transitions feel slow, the play lurches. The transitions are beautifully underscored by Mervin Wong’s music, and Brian Gothong Tan’s multimedia add an additional layer to each movement, with a particularly fascinating nightmarish wildlife sequence. Yet we are distracted by excessive changes to a very bare set by the two stagehands. It is hard to say whether this was a deliberate choice, as it could be a commentary on the menial jobs nobody wants to do – much like the guards’ task. But it feels out of place, and the play loses its momentum every time a long transition occurs. Additionally, Petrina Dawn Tan’s lighting design already carries such weight to each change of setting. The physical set could have been relied on less when Tan’s work already brings such pronounced ambience and setting.

Lastly, there is a late twist in the narrative, where one of the characters no longer feels as driven by his internal motivations. It still leads to a powerful moment, but it comes across somewhat like a cop-out after such strong characterization throughout the play.

“Home is where the hurt is”

Reviewer: Myle Yan Tay
Performance: 4 November 2018

We walk into the skeleton of a home, thin metal wires for walls, artificial patches of green surrounding it, while Maslina (Dalifah Shahril) prepares dinner. Her two children, Zaki (Al Hafiz Sanusi) and Juliana (Shafiqhah Efandi), are in their room alternating between headlocks and chokes. And at the front door, Ruslan (Saiful Amri Ahmad Elahi) and an unknown character (Kaykay Nizam) dance and wrestle. And as the play progresses, this implied violence intensifies in waves of frenzy and control.

Twenty-three years after the first performance of his script, Cerita Cinta, Noor Effendy Ibrahim returns to recreate a tense, chilling, and thoroughly unnerving depiction of domestic violence. It is not an enjoyable piece of theatre. It is a harrowing story that fills the audience with dread that is only released when the actors bow at the curtain call. Effendy does not allow the audience any chance to escape the claustrophobic household, making its brief 70-minute runtime feel far longer.

Effendy and his team have a masterful control over the tension throughout this play. Dialogue is sparse and infrequent. The characters barely speak, and when they do, lines are only several words long. There are frequent silences accompanied by only small movements onstage, be it Ruslan’s father (Joe Jasmi) hovering over the dinner table, or Ruslan crossing the kitchen to wash his feet. But each moment feels fraught with danger.

Saiful deserves special recognition for his portrayal of Ruslan, the patriarch. As a character, Ruslan fluctuates between being dismissive, adoring and, more often than not, terrifying. Saiful successfully embodies all of these contradictions. Similarly, Kaykay, who plays both Juliana’s boyfriend and a stray dog, captures the audience’s attention with his physicality. He is both rough and graceful, and the moment when his two characters converge is unforgettable. The show’s scenes are punctuated by anGie seah’s haunting vocals, which are melancholic and beautiful.

Though Cerita Cinta almost suffocates its audience in its reality, it is worth reflecting on whether the show reproduces violence through its depiction. There is no stage combat in the show, meaning when a character is hit, they are truly hit. This choice pulled this reviewer out of the show, where concern for characters became concern for the actors instead. A show can still be immersive and safe without replicating what it attempts to critique. This production could have managed this same sense of terror without harmful physical contact, as seen in other moments of the play.

“Love can be enough”

Reviewer: Myle Yan Tay
Performance: 3 November 2018

TheatreWorks wraps up its “Because I Love You” season with The Reunification of the Two Koreas, a collection of stories reflecting on love. The team takes on an ambitious task, with nine actors playing over 50 characters and presenting 20 narratives. The production does this successfully, creating an engaging and emotional journey filled with heartfelt, comic, and devastating moments.

Jacques Vincey, the show’s director, melds the different elements of theatre to create a seamless and immersive experience. Every member of the cast is electric, bringing new energies and life to the characters. Timothy Nga and Janice Koh deserve special mentions for their ability to fully embody the complex language of the play.

Marie-Christine Soma’s lighting is subtle and precise, suggesting new worlds with small changes in the lighting state. Each costume by Afton Chen is unique and evokes a different sense of time and space. Bani Haykal’s stand-out sound design deftly shifts between eerie and comforting, soothing and tense, and sometimes all at once. And the moments of comedy are put to their fullest effect, and laughs are often followed by a chilling hush across the audience.

Joël Pommerat’s script, translated from French to English by Marc Goldberg, places the audience in a new auditory landscape. It is clear from the start that the language of the play is going to be slightly off from our reality. This is what makes The Reunification of Two Koreas such an absorbing theatrical experience. It evokes miniature worlds with every scene, all unified within the same linguistic universe. Each world gives the suggestion of a larger story, of which we only get snippets, just a taste of what it has to offer. There are brief pauses to consider what brought the characters to each scene and where they went after. But then the next scene starts, with a new imaginative premise.

Even when treading on familiar territory such as the wife with Alzheimer’s or the adulterous husband, the distinct language and clarity of direction makes stories feel new. The only times this reviewer feels the play is not pushing as hard are the two scenes involving sex workers. These are still caught in a male fantasy, without the same deconstructive eye applied to the other relationships within the play.

There is a formal break near the end of the piece, through a multimedia segment. It is a jarring moment that interrupts the production, and its meaning is never made fully clear. But it is provocative and unsettling, and something this reviewer will continue to reflect on long after the show’s run ends.

The Reunification of Two Koreas dismantles what we think about love. But it is ultimately not cynical, and instead channels its deconstruction of love into a rejuvenating and emotional experience.

“Is it fun?”

Reviewer: Myle Yan Tay
Performance: 21 October 2018

Bullying is the focus of the first production by The Fool Theatre, a new company that aims to promote social issues and multilingual theatre. Despite the timely topic, however, the show fails to create an emotional investment in the audience, despite some strong performances and well-crafted set and light design.

At the core of the production is the relationship between Ms. Lim, a teacher played by Audrey Luo, and Wei Cheng, a student played by Terry Tan. When Wei Cheng is accused of a crime, the school administration and other students turn on him, and Ms. Lim ends up being his sole support. Luo delivers several powerful monologues, and creates some genuine laughs. Tan brings a schoolboy charm to Wei Cheng, the otherwise unlikable class clown. But after a key point half way through the play, the two characters start to disappear, and are replaced by scenes between a faceless chorus of students and the school staff.

When this happens, Because It’s Fun loses its emotional potential. The faceless students are flat caricatures that are neither interesting nor engaging. The scenes between them sound monotonous, with little variation in cadence or rhythm. The principal and another teacher, Mr. Tan, provide large chunks of exposition, laying out arguments clunkily through thin sections of dialogue. And as an artistic choice, the adults never look at each other during their scenes, and instead look directly at the audience. If these characters were more well-rounded or complex, this could have been an effective technique to force the audience to contend with their ideas. Instead, the actors become talking heads, releasing information with little to no connection between them.

The choice to demonize most of the students and the school’s teaching staff makes them unlikable, which is an understandable instinct. But it makes them simple. They become unsympathetic villains who are driven by convenience, rather than by character. Only Wei Cheng’s character is given that complexity, as we examine his motives as a bully and learn that his anger stems from very human desires.

The music in the production consistently feels instructional, telling the audience how we should feel. There is hardly a monologue that is not accompanied by music, which signifies that the production does not trust the actor to hold our attention. The set and lights, designed by Petrina Tan, are much more delicately done. They never distract from the action, and only enhance what occurs onstage.

But the most egregious error committed in this production is the execution of the subtitles. If the company aims to promote multilingualism in theatre, it needs to pay keener attention to the speed of the subtitles and their consistency. Certain segments would have no translation and as far this reviewer can tell, it was not out of any artistic choice.